


At A Standstill

by Piru (pyrefly)



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-15
Updated: 2006-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrefly/pseuds/Piru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though the Betrayal Arc is in the past, Conrad still has a lot of demons to fight, and it's beginning to affect Yuuri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At A Standstill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peroxidepest17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peroxidepest17/gifts).



> Though I'm no novice to writing fanfiction, this is one of my first serious attempts at writing something canon-verse. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING, CAN YOU TELL. DX Umm, I originally intended this to be post-Episode 41 and pre-48/49, mainly because ConYuu is totally given the shaft between those episodes and so I figured that this fic fits in nicely. Feel free to place it wherever you like though. Umm, general spoiler warning. Nothing too too major I don't think, but it won't make sense if you haven't seen up to at least Ep. 41, so I don't suggest you read it until then. Other than that, rest assured that the use of present tense and general butchering of the English language was a stylistic device, because I was experimenting with a different approach to fic and trying to create this "suspended time" feeling.

Yuuri still stares up at the moon late, late at night, unable to slumber peacefully as his fiancé and daughter do. Fear and doubt still gnaw at the back of his mind, plaguing him with spells of insomnia.

It has taken him some time to discover the origins of his distress. After all, Conrad has returned to them, and initially everything did seem to have returned to normal. Wolfram is back to his usual egocentric and suspicious self, constantly reprimanding him if he gives more than a passing glance to any other Mazoku or human; Günther still fusses over him and chases him down every time he attempts to escape his studies; Greta laughs heartily at every opportunity, brightening life at Blood Pledge Castle like a miniature sun; and even Gwendal seems to have relaxed some of the creases in his forehead and allows himself the time now and then to knit Greta another stuffed animal.

Yet Yuuri still finds himself forcing smiles and feigning happiness so as not to worry the many subjects who depend on him for strength. He wears a mask to hide the truth: that not everything is all right.

After all, Conrad hasn't _really_ returned to his side yet.

The silent soldier is physically present, of course, and technically one could not accuse him of failing in his duties; he still spends nearly every waking moment attending to the needs and protection of Shin Makoku and its young king. His hand upon his sword is steady, and his ferocity in battle is yet unmatched. The Rutenberg Patriot has not failed his luminous reputation and his long legacy of service to the kingdom.

But when Yuuri rises early for one of his morning runs, Conrad isn't there at his side, intermittently cheering him on and challenging him to meet his own capacity and break his previous record. When Yuuri finds himself stuck listening to Günther's history lessons yet another half day, Conrad does not come to relieve him with a baseball in one hand and glove in the other. And perhaps worst of all, when Gwendal forces Yuuri to endure hours upon hours of signing bills into law and listening to citizens' complaints, Conrad now forsakes his usual spot a few paces behind Yuuri's chair against the wall, instead offering to take up position at the door—“Because Heika is better served if assassins cannot gain entry to the room.”

Yuuri is exhausted, and not only because he lacks sleep. He has never been more fully aware of the strength he draws from the presence of the stalwart soldier—the one who was his first friend in Shin Makoku, the one who watched over his birth and named him, and the one who has protected him for more than one lifetime—than now, when that presence seems only to want to distance itself from him.

Yuuri wants to know why. Conrad's crimes were pardoned, his rank and honor restored. So why can't everything go back to the way it was before?

Caught up in his musings and his desire for a concrete answer, something more than just endless speculation, doubts, and worries, Yuuri doesn't notice that his feet have wandered as though of their own accord until he finds himself standing outside of the bedroom, one of the sentries nodding at him cordially while the other shuts the door behind him.

In earlier times, Conrad himself might have been guarding the door, or standing watch more than a few hallways away, awake and ready to accompany His Majesty if the latter can't sleep or feels restless and longs to walk or talk. But that was many weeks ago. Yuuri's instinct tells him that he won't find Conrad anywhere near his room tonight.

He declines the guards' offer to call a maid or accompany him if he wishes to go for a stroll, assuring them that he will be fine and that he will not hesitate to call for help if anything were to befall him on the short walk he plans to take. His feet are already carrying him off, and although he hasn't consciously decided on a plan of action, he knows that they can really only have one destination in mind.

The castle is veiled in silence, the echoes of Yuuri's footsteps on the stone floor and the inconstant shadows cast by the flickering of the torches upon the walls the only evidence of life. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks, once, twice, but none answer its call. He hears resonating snores when he passes by some of the sentries' quarters; one guard is murmuring something incoherent in his sleep. There is no wind tonight to carry in sounds from the town; the air is still and quite cool, almost chilly, despite the day's sweltering heat. Yuuri has learned that castles tend to get cold rather swiftly as soon as the sun sets.

He's very conscious of his own breathing, as well as the way his feet steadily move him in the direction of Conrad's chamber. He's surprised by how easy it is to go forward, despite the fact that he really doesn't have a plan. He doesn't have any reason to expect that Conrad will even be awake when he gets there, especially when one considers the late hour, except that somewhere at the back of his mind, a voice whispers that the tall soldier hasn't been getting any more sleep than he has.

There's no time left for second-guessing. Yuuri's feet have paused inches away from the thick wooden door separating Conrad's quarters from the rest of the castle—and yes, that is candlelight coming through the cracks near the floor. There's no mistaking it.

He resists the urge to knock, instead taking a deep breath as he grabs ahold of the heavy iron ring that is Shin Makoku's equivalent of a doorknob. Though he is loathe to intrude on his bodyguard, he doesn't want to risk being turned away, not when he's already made it this far. Still, he finds it easy to open the door, _too_ easy, as though he'd been hoping that it would be harder, difficult enough to justify turning around and trying again another night.

He's the Maou of Shin Makoku. Surely he can handle this, he tells himself over and over, but it doesn't help as much as it might, because he's never considered himself very brave.

When he finally finds the courage to step inside, the scene before him takes him by surprise. He's only been in here a few times before, but the memory is still etched clearly in his mind: clean and tidy, and rather spartan, as one might expect of a simple soldier. The few material possessions all had their place. It was so like Conrad.

Not now.

Now, there's books strewn about the room, on the floor, on the bed, in stacks against the wall. Clothes have been haphazardly slung onto chairs. The bed isn't made, the blankets rumpled and cast to the side, and one of the pillows lies at an odd angle. The candle on the nightstand has dripped a puddle of wax onto the floor below. It's like the demons in Conrad's head have materialized and wreaked havoc upon his peaceful, orderly existence, but Yuuri is only just now beginning to realize the extent of the pain the older man endures.

It takes effort for Yuuri to tear his eyes away from the surroundings and focus on Conrad—almost as if he knows instinctively that he will only find a bigger mess once he does. There's a heavy wooden armchair by the table to the right, and although it is angled away from the doorway, Yuuri can distinguish the figure seated in it. His first thought is that perhaps Conrad has fallen asleep, when he notices the man periodically reaching out to take a swig from a large stone mug before depositing it back on the table. Yuuri has a sneaking suspicion in regards to its contents: something a lot stronger than water, no doubt.

He hesitates then, because part of him doesn't want to see this side of Conrad. But there's no backing down now, not when he's already made it this far, and at any rate, it's about time that they were completely honest with one another.

There's a smaller chair on the other side of the table, opposite Conrad's, but that isn't where Yuuri's headed. He's not sure enough of himself to sit and face the problem so up close and personal—not yet. Instead, he makes his way to the window and perches himself on the small sill, where he has a good view of the seated figure without facing the other directly.

Conrad has yet to respond to Yuuri's presence, although the latter is aware that the soldier surely could not have failed to detect the intrusion—no matter how inebriated he might be. It's true; Conrad was alerted to his king's coming before he even opened the door; he recognized him by his footfall, like a learned musician can recognize the composer by the meter and key of a piece. Still, he can't bring himself to offer any form of greeting or welcome—torn in two, he cannot bear to turn the boy away, yet cannot bring himself to consider the ramifications of confronting him in his present condition.

And so the seconds tick away, and neither of them musters the courage to say even a single word.

The stalemate is finally broken when Conrad reaches out toward his drink again. He's intoxicated enough that while he's still quite aware of his surroundings, his movements are sluggish, because anything too swift will make his head spin out of control, so he has to take it slow. For once, Yuuri is faster, reaching the mug before he does, and before he realizes it, he's holding onto not cool stone but warm flesh.

Yuuri's hand in his.

His eyes widen on reflex, though he still can't bring himself to respond in any other manner. His gaze is transfixed upon the fingers that are now gripping his, and he knows he should look up, look his king in the eyes, but he can't do it. He's too afraid of what he might find there.

When Yuuri realizes that Conrad won't meet his gaze, he drops to his knees. He doesn't think about the act until it's done, and for a second, the irony of the role reversal strikes him. After all, how many times has Conrad knelt before his king to swear fealty and attest to his devotion? But now the king kneels before his subject. No, not the king...

“Heika.”

The word probably escaped Conrad's lips automatically, and Yuuri shakes his head as if on cue, though no longer merely because he doesn't like the title and Conrad is the one who named him. The person whose hand he's clasping ought to know that there's no rank tonight. No king and subject, no soldier and liege.

Only Conrad and Yuuri.

When he says Conrad's name aloud, his eyes are moist, his vision unsteady, but he's determined not to cry just yet, because he has things he wants to say and he doesn't want to screw it up.

“Why... why don't you want to be around me anymore?” Yuuri's voice is choked with emotion that he hadn't intended to reveal, and he has to swallow a few times before continuing, the words just finally tumbling out. “I mean, if you hate being around me that much, I wish you'd just say so. You know? Because you've always been sacrificing yourself for others, and. And I wish you'd start thinking of yourself. I realize I might've been quite selfish, insisting that you come back with us.” _With me._ “So if you really want to leave us...” _Me._ “Then. Please tell me. I won't selfishly keep you here against your will any longer...”

His voice trails off because he's out of breath, and he doesn't know he's crying until Conrad's free hand reaches out to wipe a tear off his cheek. This is the same visage that has been haunting Conrad in his nightmares for weeks, but he knows that there's no running now, no escaping reality. It's time that he accept the fact that instead of protecting Yuuri, he's only caused him immense pain.

“You? Selfish?” Conrad's voice is so soft that the tone of incredulity, though genuine, is lost. “Never...”

His fingers stray to Yuuri's hair and its softness is comforting somehow, but the boy's eyes are lacking their usual luster, and Conrad thinks he would gladly trade all four of his limbs for the two black orbs to regain their innocent, joyous sparkle. But only his words can make amends now.

“Yuuri, you're the last person in this world who has any right to call themselves 'selfish'. Don't you dare bear the blame for the pain my demons have caused you.” He pauses, wanting nothing more to say that he has no desire in life save to stay by Yuuri's side forever, but the best he can manage is, “Every living breath in my body has pledged to protect you. That never changed.”

“And I never once doubted you...” _Even though everyone else told me to. You know that._ “But then... why aren't you by my side?”

Conrad knows it's his turn to speak, but he still can't voice his manifold insecurities.

“I raised my sword against you...” he finally whispers, but he knows that Yuuri won't truly understand.

Indeed, he doesn't. “No one's holding that against you! The only reason I haven't forgiven you is because there is nothing to forgive. It was Shinou's will, and you were simply doing your duty. For the good of the kingdom.”

Yuuri's tone is fierce, bordering on indignant. Conrad fervently wishes he could explain the self-doubt that consumes him. But there's just no words to describe what it feels like to subsist with the knowledge that he had raised his sword against the one soul he's been living to love and dying to protect. He had thought that he could do it, that he could endure being hated for the sake of creating the world that Yuuri believed in. He had thought himself strong enough to enact Shinou's will. But he could not bear knowing that he had been the source of Yuuri's pain, and everything, his reason, his resolve, had faded in the face of Yuuri's tears.

Reason _always_ fades in the face of Yuuri's tears.

Conrad's hesitated too long, and Yuuri's speaking again, the words flying out too fast for his mind to control them. “When... when you said that time can give you happiness and take it away. You said that... That the time you spent waiting for me to grow up was a time of happiness. I know that I may have disappointed you, but—”

Conrad presses a finger to Yuuri's lips to stop him, but Yuuri's found his resolve now and is not to be deterred, and the words aren't stopping, anyway.

“—No, wait, hear me out! Look, I've heard the others talk about Suzanna Julia-san and how noble she was, and. I know she was your special person, and if it really is true that my soul is hers, I know you're probably disappointed that I... I can't live up to her reputation, and to everyone's expectations. To your expectations. But I do try, and—”

Conrad presses his lips to Yuuri's, briefly, the touch warm but feather-light. It's enough to stop the torrent of words dead in their tracks. Yuuri's face is frozen in an expression of surprise. The kiss probably wasn't the best idea, but Conrad's drunk and it was all he could think of to get the boy to stop spouting such nonsense.

Shaking his head, he slides out of his seat to the floor and draws Yuuri into his arms. It's more affection than he's ever really allowed himself to indulge in, but he's _drunk_, and if Yuuri truly thinks that Conrad doesn't want to be around him because he thinks himself inferior to Julia's memory, then Conrad has _a lot_ to make up for. Conrad can think of a few objections to being with Yuuri as he wishes—the enormous age difference, for one, not to mention the fact that Yuuri's engaged to his _brother_—but Julia was never one of them.

He only hopes that Yuuri can understand this through the silence, because he can't say the words out loud quite yet.

Yuuri does understand, in his own way, but he's set it aside for now, his attention caught by something else entirely. Wrapped in Conrad's strong embrace, his right ear level with his chest, he can hear the soldier's steady heartbeat, and he's smiling to himself now, because he heard the rumors that “the Rutenberg Patriot sacrificed his heart to get his arm back”, and he knows it isn't true. He can hear Conrad's pulse, strong and steadfast.

And maybe he's too young to really know what love is yet, but he can hear something echo inside his own chest, can feel his own heartbeat slow to match the pace of Conrad's, and he thinks that it's something important.

For the first time in days, he feels the desire for sleep return, and the edges of his consciousness are growing fuzzy, seeking to slip into the world of dreams just beyond. Yuuri doesn't know if anything's truly been resolved, but he knows they've taken an important step forward, and he's glad.

“Conrad...” Yuuri's voice is growing thick with sleep, and he stifles a yawn as he pulls on Conrad's hand that he's been gripping all this time. “Please promise me that you'll stay by my side.”

Conrad's growing weary too, fatigue of the sort that signals that it's time to quit fighting. “But I don't want to cause you pain again...”

“You won't.” Despite the onset of sleep, Yuuri's voice is strong, determined. “As long as you're with me, you won't cause me pain. Whatever comes to haunt us, we'll face it together.”

The room is growing darker now; everything is fading fast, and it has nothing to do with the lighting. Yuuri smiles up at Conrad through half-lidded eyes, but the tears are gone, and the irises shine with a faint glimmer. Conrad's eyes, though still edged with sadness, are gentle now, and he smiles back with that special smile that he's always reserved for Yuuri alone. _Their_ smile.

“Together.”

***

When Yuuri awakens, to his surprise, he finds himself in Conrad's bed rather than on the floor. Someone even took the time to pull a blanket over him during the night. The other pillow and blanket sit on the heavy wooden armchair, and Yuuri can guess where Conrad had spent the night.

His bodyguard is not in the room.

Sitting up, Yuuri's even more surprised to find that the other side of the bed has been made, and all of the clothing has been picked up, now sitting in neatly folded stacks on Conrad's wardrobe. The puddle of candle wax has disappeared, and the windows are open, allowing the cool morning breeze to permeate the room. There's still some books scattered about the floor, and the first rays of sunlight reveal that everything could use a good dusting, but there is hope now instead of simply chaos.

Yuuri enjoys a healthy whiff of fresh air. “Together...”

The door swings open then, and the soldier who enters is already fully bathed and clad. Yuuri has an inkling of what Conrad's head must feel like on the inside, but one couldn't tell by looking at him; the good soldier appears refreshed and ready, as always. Yuuri's heart grows warm at the sight.

“Good morning, Heika.” Conrad bows courteously, then replaces the formality with a simple smile. “Care to go for a run before breakfast?”

Yuuri answers with a smile of his own as he heads for the door. He knows that he and Conrad still have a lot to talk about, but they're making progress. He does wonder, of course, about that night, and whether he hadn't just dreamed most of what had transpired, but he doesn't have to wonder long, because if nothing else, at least at long last both the king and his bodyguard's smiles are genuine again.


End file.
